


Stop talking, kiss me

by phrynne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Boys Kissing, Christmas, Drinking, Flirting, Frottage, Getting Back Together, Honesty, Honesty kink, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Teasing, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 03:14:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13022082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phrynne/pseuds/phrynne
Summary: His palm is now over the bulge in my trousers. He has no idea what flirting is, nor do I, because this isn’t flirting, this is sex in the waiting, this is allowing gravity to pull us down together, to finally finish what I started years ago.





	Stop talking, kiss me

**Author's Note:**

> So I saw this picture from Draco and Astoria (www.instagram.com/p/BWEmmoLnAlt/) and of course I had to drarry the shit out of it. This artist is wonderful, they draw the best Harry ever (unfortunately for me they only draw canon pairs, but my imagination does the rest). Hope you like it!
> 
> And yeah, honesty totally is a kink.

It’s not long before we’re left alone in the living room. The sound of laughter echoes from the kitchen. Glasses clink, familiar voices reach us. I’m relaxed and warm, the lights sparkle white on the Christmas tree and reflexes catch on the glass I’m holding. I sip the wine, my back sinks more into the pillows, more into the aching warmth of him sitting right next to me on the couch. Our legs bump against each other, it’s painful and so good. Everything around him hurts me so good.

I don’t move, don’t try to recreate a distance between us anymore. I like what the wine does to my brain. This is the perfect time to stop drinking. My defences lower and level with his, so I won’t run when he makes his move.

His hand drifts to my leg. Sometimes when he touches me I stop breathing, but not now. Now I’m hyper aware of my own breathing. Inhale, exhale, slow, slow. I let my head fall back, my eyes close. 

His hand climbs up my leg, over the wool of my trousers. He’s always so warm, so tender. He knows exactly how to break me, and I’m completely addicted to this feeling. His fingers trail lightly over my inner thigh. Then his hand stops there, in that intimate place in my body. I hear him breathe deeply, then feel him sink more into the couch, leaning closer. His head falls on my shoulder. The change in position has the tip of his fingers slipping further between my legs. One of his fingers stills over the swell of my cock. I don’t dare move. His breath is warm on my neck, the glass cold in my hand and it’s the most beautiful torture of my life. Minutes stretch before us. I count the beatings of my heart with each of his breaths hovering over my skin. 

My eyes are still closed, his finger over my cock, so close but not moving, not teasing, not doing anything, just there, and I’m getting hard, so slowly, under him. It’s pure agony. I’m not even worried someone might walk in on us like this. They all know by now. He’s told his friends; mine have known all along. This on and off thing we have doesn’t have a name, but it’s something that keeps my life spinning, my heart beating, my mind reeling. I’m starting to know him in ways I never thought possible, and the more I know, the more I want to know. The further I want to drop. I never knew the abyss of someone could be like this. 

I’m afraid I’ll break the spell if I move now. He’s so completely still against me, his hand  nestled over my thigh. I’m going mad. All through the night he’s been this quiet, not at all like him. I’ve laughed and talked, made jokes even. I was afraid I wouldn’t have this again. I was certain he wouldn’t take me back. Not after last time.  

I let my thighs fall open. The glass trembles in my hand, his breath huffs against my throat. His nose nuzzles the crook of my neck. I barely keep from shivering. I’ll never get used to the idea that he wants me this much. 

I open my eyes, and the room looks all kinds of beautiful now. It’s his house, Grimmauld, but he’s turned it into a real home, cozy, comfortable. He’s picked things he knows I like, like this couch. He wants me here. I never spent the night, not once in all these years, so why do I feel like I already belong? Everytime I leave him is like losing some part of me and I can’t do it anymore. Not when I’m welcome, not when he’s been telling me for so long how he feels about me. I want to stay. I don’t ever want to go, but I don’t know how to tell him.

I hear Pansy and Granger laughing in the kitchen, then the sarcastic low tones of Blaise followed by a burst of laughter from Weasley. I smile in spite of myself. How did this happen? My friends, his friends, our friends. The fact that these people are in the same house, spending Christmas together, without hexes being thrown at each other is proof life is something wonderfully unpredictable. And that surviving a War can change us. 

It certainly changed me. 

‘I love when you smile like that.’

His voice is quiet in the room. I can feel the smile on his lips. He has them over my neck, but he’s not kissing me. It’s unbearable. 

I never used to smile, now I do it all the time. When I’m around him, it comes easily.  He makes me happy in ways I didn’t know were possible. I don’t try to hide the smile like I used to. 

I look down at his hand. 

‘What are you doing?’ I say after a while. Even my voice sounds different around him. Alive. Warm. 

He laughs against my throat and I swear my body feels like it might combust. I don’t know how he does it, but still his hand doesn’t move over me.

‘I’m flirting with you,’ he whispers.

I feel an intense burst of laughter building up my throat. I let it out, and my body shakes with it. Harry’s hand slips further. His palm is now over the bulge in my trousers. He has no idea what flirting is, nor do I, because this isn’t flirting, this is sex in the waiting, this is allowing gravity to pull us down together, to finally finish what I started years ago when I kissed him under the rain. It still surprises me that I was the one to do it, to have him against that wall. I didn’t know then how deep I would be falling for him. 

His hand catches my wrist, then moves to take my glass. He drinks the rest of the wine, and the familiarity of the gesture, and the fact that his hand moves over my cock, with the natural shifting of his body, makes me moan. It’s a small, whiny little sound, escaping between us, but we both hear it. The green in his eyes matches the green of his sweater. He’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. And I guess he’s mine. 

He sets the glass on the table next to him, and then he shifts closer, his hand brushes over my bulge, but it’s almost by chance, he doesn’t follow the next logical step. 

‘And now I’m kissing you,’ he says softly. The fact that he says it instead of just going for it, the fact that his hand is still unmoving over me, turns me on like nothing else does. He smiles that half smile, shy and bold all at the same time. His lips brush mine, so soft I think I might be imagining it. 

‘You’re not stopping me...’ he pauses again, his nose brushes mine. 

I’m going to die if he doesn’t kiss me. 

‘Very observant, Auror Potter…’ I manage to say. My voice breaks, he reacts to my sarcasm like I knew he would. 

His teeth catch my lip, and he pulls it inside his mouth, biting. I whimper, and my body does what it wants, which is to reach for his sweater, pull him to me. His right hand tangles in my hair, his tongue parts my mouth so slowly it’s like he’s opening up someplace else in my body and his other hand is featherlight over my cock. My hips push against his hand, he smiles into my mouth, and his fingers trail lightly over my shaft. I curse the fabric separating us, his maddening hand on me not giving me what I want, his mouth working me open. My hand goes up to his hair, the other wraps around his neck. I’m home.

‘Harry…’ it’s a whimper, inside his mouth.

‘You taste so good,’ he says, and his words rush through me. ‘I fucking miss you,’ his hand pulls at my hair. This honesty of his has always terrified and awed me. 

‘Do you always speak your mind? No filters?’ I ask, my hands on either side of his face. His right hand drops to my waist, the other one stays where it is, poised softly over my cock. I will my hips to stay put. 

‘I have filters, all right…’ he says. He looks down to his hand over my cock, like he only now realises it’s there. His index finger makes the first purposeful movement, it trails over the outline of my cock. I don’t know how I keep from moving, or screaming. I probably only do because I’m waiting to hear what he’s about to say. 

‘You have no idea what else is on my mind right now, Draco.’

He uses my name scarcely. Like he’s saving it for special occasions. When he does, my whole body feels like a bow, arching back, pulled taut, before the arrows release. I don’t recognize my voice when I speak.

‘Maybe I want to know…’

He looks up at me. He’s surprised. He’s also afraid. But I know that’s not stopping him. I watch his chest heaving, he swallows. We still like this for a moment. He makes his decision. His eyes are set on mine when he answers.

‘I want to take you upstairs. I want to undress you, so slowly you’ll lose your mind. I want to make you almost spill in your pants, and when you can’t take it anymore, I want to rip your trousers open and take your cock in my mouth. Do you remember how much I love sucking your cock, Draco? Do you remember me on my knees for you? I want you to fuck my mouth like you used to, I want to drink your spunk, I’m fucking addicted to your taste. I want your hands in my hair, your cock pushing inside my mouth. I want it so badly, it’s all I think about. And after you’re done, I want you again. I want you to fuck me, have me on all fours, any way you want me. I want to be walking sideways when you’re done with me, or better yet, I don’t want you to be done with me, not ever. Don’t be done with me.’ 

His words hit my face, my hands, my heart, it’s gut wrenching, and it’s almost like an orgasm on words, my whole body jolts into his, his hands come up to hold me. He is afraid he’s gone too far, worried how I’ll react. I don’t even know how I’m reacting. My hands shake.

‘Fuck, Harry.’

There’s that stubborn smile on his face, a tinge of red on his cheeks. 

‘That’s not even all.’

‘Not all?’

‘Draco, you really have no idea?’

I do. Merlin, I do. 

‘You’re in love with me,’ I say, and the words drift like a dream. 

He kisses me so hard I almost lose my balance, but his hands are there, holding me, one on my lower back, the other one finally cupping me, with purpose now, through my trousers. I let my mouth fall open for him and inside it he’s spilling his heart out.

‘I’m so fucking in love with you. I love your brilliant mind, your sarcasm, the way you always complain about the tea, the way your forehead wrinkles when you read, the way you look now, like you can’t believe any of it. And you came back. You came back.’

I’m pretty desperate now. My hips push against him, my hand is under his sweater, my fingers dig into his stomach. I need to tell him I won’t ever leave again. I need to tell him I’ve been in love with him all along. So I say:

‘Stop talking.’

I kiss him hard, and I’m straddling him, his arms around me, his moans inside my mouth. He stops me, a faint smile of a challenge on the lips over mine.

‘You said no filters. I could go on, you know.’

That’s why I keep falling for you, I think wildly, and my fingernails dig into his skin, he grunts. I missed the sounds he makes when he’s lost like this.

‘Fucking take me upstairs now.’ 

His hands grip my arse, he chuckles.

‘I love that too.’

And then he’s lifting me up, all strength and control. This man is fucking beautiful. My legs wrap around him, and we’re kissing as he walks us up the stairs. 

‘Merry Christmas to you all, stay as long as you want and don’t mind us,’ he throws back to the kitchen. 

I don’t listen to the eruption of laughter and whistles that follows. I’m barely aware of Blaise’s ‘goddamn fucking finally’ and Granger’s amused ‘do cast a Muffliato this time’. I don’t hear a thing, I grip his shoulders and I’m kissing him like I always wanted to, like I’m staying. 

He casts a wandless Muffliato even before we get to the room.

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? Comments and kudos are much welcome! Happy Drarry Christmas!


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